Saturday, April 7, 2012

When the story in your just a story

Relapse Post #9
If you believe, you can achieve. That's the idea,  but what really happens is if you lie to yourself long enough even you will start to think the fantasy is reality. That's where the danger comes in, in those instances where all you've been doing is repeating the tale, but moving the story, the gap is what kills you. 

Sporty is on the move.

Back when she was looking for work two years ago, she talked about Indiana, Oklahoma, Louisiana, there may have even been a mention of tropical St. Croix before the people around the corner from her made an offer to get started in her preferred new field and she jumped at it. There were many  nights during that waiting period that  I'd spoken to God and asked him to help her, to bring her happiness, even if it meant without being with me. So back when she let me know she was ready to get started on this new path I was happy for her, but I was disappointed that she wouldn't be returning to Atlanta.

But now she's packing up her stuff again, and heading back east.

No, not back to Atlanta, but to the DC Metro Megaplex which is close to where she's from.  So I'm guessing the lesson to be learned here is to be careful what you ask for.

It's always great when you can sit ringside while people you care about get those things they've worked for. It's kind of beautiful, even when you're only virtually there. Even when it means you're not going to get those things you've hoped for. I'm happy for her, honestly and truly. But since then I can feel the tears floating behind my eyes. Hey, at least this time I didn't lose the feeling in my legs. I'm getting better at this right?

I keep wondering what's wrong with me, why I get so fixated? When i talk about them, I like to romanticize my feelings, to make seem them noble, deep and elegant. Apparently they aren't anything like that. I've picked this Sporty narrative up again, as though it were now any more possible, when I should have left it where it was - in the closet of my mind. Maybe I've watched too many movies, internalized the words to far too many love songs (as a writer, I am always looking for meaning in words), and maybe because the hope was so much better than the bleak truth I just let it ride, for far too long.

Yes, I know I'm rehashing things that are over, or maybe never existed for anyone but me. Yes, just so you know Serve has already blessed me out this, again. But, for the record, they met once and Serve told me later she instantly didn't like her, so there maybe some bias. Yes, I realize this is my problem, not Sporty's.

I've got a million reasons why this didn't work out due my own social and emotional incompetence, without even entertaining the idea that it might never have worked at all under any circumstances and amounted to little more than a lucid fever dream from the beginning. But rehashing things, something I'd always done is just another skill you're supposed to use in law. I'm still rehashing projects from my first year of law school. How many writing projects have restarted? This is what I do!

So where am I going with this? I don't know. How do I fix this? Well, if I knew that I wouldn't be putting this drivel on the internet, now would I? And just so we're clear...No, I'm not going to learn a damn thing.

Funny thing we call love. Funny thing.

Barkeep. Something alcoholic. And in large quantities.   

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